


Empty Space

by moonpiefsn



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Wholock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonpiefsn/pseuds/moonpiefsn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only a few days after The Fall, Sherlock meets with a very old friend. Soon they discover there is a new villain at large.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

A young boy sat in a schoolyard.

His class had long since gone inside, but the boy was hiding because he didn’t want to leave just yet. These were the best times for the boy, when he was left alone to his thoughts. 

The wind was at a lull, but it swept through the air, chilling the boy’s bones and causing the rusty metal chain of the swing that he sat on to creak ominously. His name was Sherlock Holmes, and he was eight years old.

Sherlock Bent down to fix his sock which had fallen down his ankle.  
He hated the school uniforms. So stiff and perfectly pressed. He hated school and everyone in it. Alone was what Sherlock had. Alone protected him. 

Sherlock brushed his fingers through his curly black hair, only for it to fall back in front of his eyes. 

He closed his eyes to think. This was his favorite thing to do, because he was resigned to his thoughts. No crabby teachers with red faces and high pitched yells, no smug children with pinched faces and hurtful words, no Mum or Dad to to tell him he wasn’t good enough. Just him, alone in his private castle in his mind.

It wasn’t always a castle. It could be a cloud in the sky, or a submarine a thousand feet below, or simply nothing. 

Empty space. 

For a while, the only sounds were the whistling of the wind and the creaking of the swing. 

Suddenly, Sherlock’s thoughts were interrupted by an unfamiliar noise.  
Sherlock’s hopes rose, for it was another question to solve. A challenge for his genius mind. 

His eyes remained closed as he tried to figure it out. Whirring... It was a whirring... but what? For once in his life, Sherlock had no idea. 

He reluctantly opened his eyes, and saw something his mind could not explain.  
For a second there was nothing, and then a large blue form began to... materialize next to the swingset. And then with a flashing light and last buzzing noise, there it was. A large blue police box, with a bright light on top.

Sherlock jumped to his feet. For his eight year old mind, something like this was... unfathomable. It was even more of a shock... when a man stepped out.

The eight year old genius was too shocked to move as a young man in a tweed jacket opened the door of the police box and hopped out. The boy’s eyes were wide as the man looked at him, and flashed some sort of lighted pen at him, making buzzing noises.

“Well, look at you. A proper genius. “

Said the man.

“Wh-What?” Sherlock sputtered. He had never had trouble speaking before. 

“Oh I’m sorry how rude of me. I’m The Doctor. And what might your name be?

“Sh-Sherlock... Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sherlock Holmes, lovely name. Sounds like a storybook name. You don’t come across names like that often, you know-”

The man who called himself The Doctor stopped suddenly and leaned forward. He put his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and stared deeply into his eyes.

“Your eyes... like the ocean after a storm.”

Sherlock noticed the eyes of The Doctor. They were some kind of dark green, that seemed to look much farther than right in front of him. 

The Doctor’s smile returned. A smile of all-knowing mischief. 

“Well, Mister Holmes, how would you like to go on an adventure?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened.

“In.. that?”

He pointed to the blue box.

The Doctor freed his hands from Sherlock’s shoulders and went over to his mysterious box.

“Well first off its not “that” it’s the TARDIS. Time and relative dimensions in space, catchy name I’m glad I thought of it. And, yes.”

“But.. it just appeared... out of nowhere, how-”

“Time and relative dimensions in space. No-one ever gets the name!”

Something struck Sherlock’s mind.

“But that’s not possible.”

With that The Doctor slowly opened the “TARDIS” door with a knowing grin.

“Nothing’s impossible Sherlock Holmes, If you know where to look. As I always say, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains however improbable must be true.”

Sherlock shook his head. He couldn’t explain it, this was impossible. It was a dream, it must all be a dream it had to be.  
“You’re just a dream, you’re just inside my head!”

To Sherlock’s surprise, The Doctor began to laugh.

“Oh I’m definitely inside your head, Sherlock. But that doesn’t mean I’m not real.  
You’ll find that the best things are never completely true. Now, what say you for a bit of adventure, eh?”

This was the first time Sherlock noticed the inside of the police box. He slowly walked over to it, and peeked inside. 

Not possible. Not. Possible.

It was huge. But only on the inside. The Doctor watched in good humor as he ran out of the box and looked around the back, and went inside again.

“But, it’s larger on the inside!”

“Sure is. It’s actually quite roomy, as a matter of fact.”

Sherlock came to a quick conclusion. A normal second grader would not have been able to think this quickly, but Sherlock was no normal second grader. He decided that even if it was some sort of strange, maybe fantastic dream, that he would solve this. That’s what Sherlock Holmes did, after all.

“If I went with you, whoever you are, would you take me back after?”

The Doctor smiled again. He was obviously a person that liked to smile.

“Cross my hearts!”

Sherlock didn’t know what that meant, but he put on his best bussiness face and extended one small hand to The Doctor.

“Is that a deal then?”

The Doctor shook the small hand eagerly.

“Deal.”


	2. A Mist In The Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're in the present tense! Still Sherlock and 11, but things will pick up soon.

28 years later 

Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes stood in the middle of nowhere. 

Not in the form of the expression, for Sherlock never used expressions in a serious matter. No, he stood in nothing but white. No sky, earth or walls to look at.   
It was complete and utter nothing. 

The only thing that could be related to earth was the icy wind that blew into Sherlock's face and stuck to his eyelashes

. There were no trees for it to blow leaves from, or balloons to free from the hands of small children, but still it was there and it chilled Sherlock to the bone. Once it blew his scarf into his face, and he hurriedly adjusted the blue fabric around the peaks of his coat collar. 

Sometimes he came to this land of nowhere to think.  
His "mind palace" he called it. On occasion, there would be monstrous walls and ceilings, lush tapestries and furniture, a real palace to store all of the thoughts that inhabited the mind of a genius. 

But no, not this time. For he was not here only to think.  
Sherlock had a reason to be here this time. He was meeting with an old friend.

And speak of the devil, Sherlock's mood secretly brightened when he heard the very familiar whirring that signaled the arrival of his companion. 

And then there it was.

A blue police box, with a glowing light atop it, materialized next to Sherlock in a swirl of wind. And not a moment later, a man stepped out.

"Hello old friend."

Said the man. For a moment, they stood still, before Sherlock extended a business-like handshake. The man smiled and shook it. To anyone who would have been watching, it would seem like a cold unfriendly interaction. But there was a different kind of friendship there. One that only a chosen few will ever experience.

"Hello, Doctor."

Said Sherlock, with the smallest smile that only The Doctor could have noticed.  
The Doctor was a few inches shorter than Sherlock, and he had impossible brown hair and an impossible jaw and impossible dark, all-knowing eyes. 

How he managed to maintain his friendly childish grin and those dark daunting eyes would forever remain a mystery to Sherlock. The only thing he couldn't crack.

"So I assume there's a reason you wanted to speak with me, other than a friendly chat? Although I do like those."

The Doctor grinned, withdrawing his hands and putting them in the pockets of his tweed jacket.

Sherlock did the same, and adjusted his deep blue scarf.

"Yes, of course. I came to talk about.. my plan."

The Doctor's smile faded.

"You went ahead with it, then."

"Of course. It was for the best. There was no way I could let him-"

Sherlock's voice cracked on the last word, and he bit his knuckle.  
Sherlock didn't cry. He was a professional. Emotion was a frivolous thing.

The Doctor noticed. He put one hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"I told you you'd miss him. John, am I correct?"

Sherlock nodded, and then shrugged away the hand and turned his back to wipe the corners of his eyes in secrecy. No-one would see him cry. Not even his oldest friend.

Sherlock reached into the pocket of his wool trench coat and pulled out something hard and polished. It was his skull. He extended it to The Doctor.

"You told me when you gave me this.. that it belonged to someone I would meet in the future. Someone that would become my close friend. Tell me right now. Is this-"

"Yes." The Doctor interrupted. He knew what he meant.

Sherlock nodded.

"As I suspected. Now, your companions..."

"They're gone."

The Doctor have a smile on his face when he said this, but it was a sad forlorn one. Not his usually bright grin that could shine a light on any darkness in the universe.

"It's alright, they lived a long happy life. The Ponds... can rest in peace."

"Of course. And that would mean... we're both all alone in the world."

Sherlock said, with not a trace of question. He knew it to be true.

Without warning,The Doctor snatched Sherlock's hand. Sherlock almost jerked away, but then hesitantly left it there.

"Not alone. Lost maybe, but never alone."

Sherlock and The Doctor stared out into empty space. For a moment they stayed that way, eyes open into the white unknowing abyss, and then a deep breath from The Doctor signaled it was time for action. He stepped forward, adjusting his red bow-tie.

"Well, I'd say we'd best be off then!"

Sherlock smirked for a second.

"Of course. We must hurry."

"Haha, _that's_ the Sherlock I'm looking for! Glad to have you back, Holmes."

When Sherlock climbed into the TARDIS after The Doctor, a fire was in his eyes that hadn't been there since before "The fall" as he referred to it as. It was a bright fire. One that could only come from excitement and wonder.

With a gust of icy wind, the blue box disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Sherlock is dead.

It was true but it couldn't be. That didn't happen to him.

He's gone. You'll never see him again. Suck it up, damn it.

One did not simply get over Sherlock Holmes.

But you have to. You can't waste your life away on something that isn't going to happen.

He could be alive.

Listen to yourself John.

No. It's possible I know it.

John.

"John."

John Watson snapped out of his daydream, and looked up to see his psychologist looking at him with worried eyes.

"Y-Yes?"

"John, you're lack of engagement is understandable, but it's been a month. This isn't good for your well-being."

The psychologist said, leaning over in her chair and staring John in the eye.

John rubbed the bridge of his nose with his calloused hands, and did not respond.

She sighed, set down her clipboard.

"Alright, your session is over. But I suggest you do something. Go on vacation, see some family. Find something worth living for."

What is worth living for anymore. Nothing. Nothing at all.

The walk home was slow. John noticed the people that avoided his eye contact.  
He did not care. Since Sherlock had... passed, his limp had returned.

And it was worse. The metal cane clanked on the icy pavement as John Watson made his way home. But it couldn't be called home anymore. Without Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street would never be home again.

It was the same every day. He would stay home all day, or go to his sessions.   
He did not go out anymore. Occasionally people would call him but he would hardly ever answer and if he did it was unenthusiastic and distant. 

When John stepped inside, as he did every time, he noticed Sherlock's deerstalker thrown hastily on the couch. John had not touched it. 

He let his cane fall to the ground, and slumped to his chair. Sherlock's chair was still across from him. Not a soul had touched it since.... 

John's eyes were wet and hot. He leaned back to look at the ceiling. He blinked, and breathed deeply. 

Television. There was a marathon of "Friends" playing. John did not pay attention. Only let the sound fill his mind, erasing the other thoughts that remained there.

He fell asleep there in the chair, as the laughing track played multiple times. 

John was jerked awake as he heard a loud knock on the door. Who on earth could that be?

John waited until the second knock to lurch himself up, stagger to the door and open it. Standing at the doorway was a woman. A woman in a leather jacket and blue jeans, and long curly blonde hair. 

"Good evening!"

Said the woman. 

"Can I.. help you?" John questioned.

The woman suddenly look flustered and laughed. She had a big laugh.

"Oh, I'm sorry how rude of me. I'm looking for a Mister John Watson?"

"That's me. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Well, I think it's more something I can help you with, If we're being blunt."

"I'm not following. I should really be-"

"You've lost something very important haven't you?"

John was taken aback, and a bit offended.

"Listen if this is some sort of prank I-"

"Well you have, haven't you?" Interrupted the stranger.

"Well... Yes I have actually."

"Well so have I. And I came here to see if you wanted to get them back."

For a moment, John let himself be hopeful. Then he came to terms with reality.

"He's dead. Dead for a month now."

"Ah, Sherlock Holmes I believe his name was? Well he did a good job of faking it didn't he?"

Faking. He's alive?

"W-What?"

"You've lost a detective, I've lost a doctor, and it seems as though they've met up with each-other. What say you we find them?"

John hesitated.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

The woman smiled at him. She had bluegreen eyes that shone with excitement.

"River Song. And your name?"

"J-John Watson."

"Well John Watson. Lets go find your detective."

She grabbed his wrist, and lifted her other to reveal a leather bracelet of some sort.

"Hold on."

"W-What? What are you doing-"

Before John could finish, they had vanished out of thin air.


	4. MR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! mwhaahahahah. Also deductions are hard, sue me.

~Chapter 3

"So where are we going, exactly?" Sherlock questioned, one hand holding tightly to the TARDIS mechanism.

The Doctor pushed a few buttons and pulled a few levers. Sherlock had a good feeling he didn't know a bit of what he was doing.

The Doctor flashed an excited eye at Sherlock.

"I don't believe you've seen _Castrovalva_ yet. Lovely planet, I'd like to take a quick trip there."

The TARDIS blinked and flashed, and then began to move. Sherlock noticed the rough turbulence, and tightened his grip.

"Doctor!"

"Working on it!"

Sherlock could only brace himself as they crashed through who knew what spacetime universe. It was a relief when they landed.

Sherlock adjusted his scarf to look uniform, and straightened his jacket.

The Doctor peeked out of the TARDIS door, and was not greeted with the lush green lands of Castrovalva. It was a street in London.

"How peculiar. The TARDIS has taken us to London, Sherlock."

The two men exited the phone box, which was conveniently parked against a building. It was Sherlock's modern period, to his intrigue. Why would they crash here? 

"Very interesting." The Doctor said.

It was in no way strange, in fact. People hurried along the pavement, cars sped along the road. It was a typical grey day in London.

But of course, when Sherlock Holmes and/or The Doctor were involved, it was never simple for long. As fate would have it, a large white ambulance with flashing red lights zipped down the street past them, followed by three police cars. Loud sirens blared over the streets. The Doctor and Sherlock looked at each other for a split second, before dashing down the sidewalk after it. Sherlock had secretly missed this. The adrenaline rush, the mystery, the puzzle. Of course, It wasn't the same when it was a tall lanky alien man in tweed and bow-tie, as opposed to a shorter man in a leather jacket and jeans. John was what was missing.

"Hurry, Mister Holmes!" The Doctor exclaimed. Sherlock could hear the excitement in his voice. He was used to losing people, of course. But indubitably, there was that almost invisible layer of sadness behind the excitement that Sherlock detected. It wasn't hard to tell that the man from outer space tried very hard to keep his emotions bottled inside. 

Disregarding these thoughts, Sherlock ran down the sidewalk tailing The Doctor, until one final corner turn, and they were at the crime scene.

A back alley behind the local pub. It was swarming with policemen in black uniform shouting into ham radios, and a few paramedics crowding the main event. Two bodies, dangling out of the mouth of a dumpster. Sherlock and The Doctor pushed their way through the crime scene. From further inspection, they realized it was a man and woman. One, the man with three stab wounds through the head, and the woman with one through each eye. Blood pooled around the dumpster, and the area had been taped off with police tape. Sherlock and The Doctor quickly climbed over the tape, only to have a very gruff man in a cop uniform with grey stubble smoking a cigarette come over to them, eyebrows furrowed and furious grimace plastered on his face.

"Oi! You can't be here, this is a crime scene!"

He shouted at them, in a scratchy well worn voice.

Sherlock looked him over.

I- Unshaven, badly trimmed hair, non domestic. No spouse, cigarettes in coat pockets and sleeves, chain smoker. worn clothing, doesn't care about personal hygiene. Smells of liquor, probably a day off a hangover. -I

The Doctor only grinned his usual grin at the police officer and flashed his wallet- containing psychic paper- at him. 

The man's eyes widened and he raised his hands in apology.

"O-Oh! Excuse me sir! Beg pardon sir! I had no idea sir!"

The Doctor shook his head.

"Of course not, easy mistake. Now... about.. this."

He gestured to the bodies, which were being lowered onto stretchers by paramedics.

The officer pulled a notepad from his pocket.

"Yes, of course sir. Time of murder, about two o'clock this afternoon, male is Benjamin Pace, age 36, female Marianne Pace, age 34. Male has three stab wounds through the-"

"Yes, thank you officer."

Sherlock raised a hand dismissively, cutting him off. The officer looked at The Doctor quizzically. 

"Who's this?"

The Doctor raised his hands in a "he's-always-like-that" fashion.

"He's with me." 

Sherlock was already studying the bodies, which had been lowered to the ground.

His eyes darted across them from head to toe, studying every detail, every fiber that could give him a lead. This is what he had hungered for. When Sherlock had finished, he stood up and wiped blood off his jacket. He turned to The Doctor.

"I've a few possible theories."

The Doctor nodded.

Sherlock began to pace, like Sherlock Holmes often did as he listed off each deduction he'd made.

"Judging from the amount of blood, the blade was jagged but sharp. It would have been expensive, no ordinary serial killer would have one of that price. Both subjects had multiple broken ribs, fingers and limbs. They were dropped from a high hight after they were killed. The female was abducted first, there are multiple bruises on his face and limbs, showing signs of physical abuse but these are fresh. They came from the killer. He probably kidnapped her then convinced her spouse to come attempt to rescue her, only for him to be captured as well and for them to be murdered simultaneously. The stab wounds are in particular places. The woman in the eyes twice, the man in the head thrice."

The Doctor chuckled in spite of himself.

"One hell of a first deduction I'd say!"

Sherlock nodded.

"Thank you Doctor. All though.."

Sherlock knelt next to the bodies again.

"There are two things I can't seem to deduce."

Sherlock had pulled on a pair of rubber gloves he had in his pocket, and poked into the dead man's mouth. The gums were covered in blood.

"Both specimens are missing a front tooth. Only recently pulled, and horrendously. Everything else is precise but the teeth... they could have been removed with a blunt spoon."

The Doctor knelt next to Sherlock.

"And the other thing?"

Sherlock nodded and lifted the specimen's left hand, exposing the palm.

"This."

He pointed to the middle of the palm, and The Doctor was taken aback.

There was a mark on the hand, on both left hands of the victims. A stamp, most likely applied into the skin by a hot iron. The letters "MR" were seared into the skin. The wound was fresh. The killer had done this.

"MR." The Doctor stood up, followed by Sherlock.

"MR.. MR... where have I heard that before?"

Sherlock for once had no idea. Why was it he always hit the most road blocks when The Doctor was around?

Sherlock decided that he would be able to think better somewhere else. Somewhere quieter, that didn't smell like blood, beer, and smoke. 

"Doctor."

Sherlock turned to The Doctor, who nodded.

"To the TARDIS!"


End file.
